I could go into the fragility of human life, or sanity, or love, or any of that crap, but how boring would that be. Besides, haven’t you read enough of that yet? I’m sure there’s hundreds of responses around here from deep, sensitive writers who pour their entire essence into capturing the pain of fragility in nauseating clarity.

Personally, I’d like to know why everything is so poorly made these days. It used to be I could throw a chair in a fit of anger and it’d bounce off the fucking wall like it enjoyed the experience. Incidentally, the same applies to men, but I said I wasn’t talking about the fragility of life. Try that now with an armchair and your hired help will be cleaning up the splinters of wood for weeks to come. And it’s not like we buy cheap Ikea shit around here, either. This is supposedly high-quality home décor. There should be some kind of manufacturer test where five guys (it’d take that many, but again, not talking about human fragility) lift an oak table and throw it at a wall to see if it can stand the beating. Only then would an assurance of quality mean anything to me. I’m tired of having to redecorate every time I need to vent.

Parties. I’ve certainly been to enough of those in five hundred years.

Some of the best I can recall were hosted by Deacon Frost. However much of a pain in the ass he might have been in life, I can thank him for two things: his innate ability to throw an incredible party, and for getting in there and fucking the Ruling Council’s shit right up. Unfortunately the latter endeavor killed him, so the former is a figment of the past. It’s a pity, but I suppose it was inevitable. The clubs he opened were a monument to the fact that, back then, we all had to cower in shadows and keep ourselves unknown to the human population. Our numbers were smaller and more regulated. Now we don’t hide. We own the clubs the humans attend, and the businesses they work for and the governments they vote into power. Our numbers have grown exponentially, largely because there’s no pureblood Elders forming the vampire nation’s elite and putting restrictions on turnings anymore.

If we don’t already, we will soon outnumber the humans to the point where we can simply take over. Walk in, boot their pathetic asses out of the seats of power and make ourselves at home. And that will be one hell of a party. You’re all invited.

You Should Rule Mercury

Close to sun, Mercury has very long days - and is rarely visible to the rest of the solar system. You are perfect to rule Mercury, because you live for the present - and can truly enjoy a day that goes on forever. Like Mercury, you are quick and elusive. Your wit is outstanding, and you can win any verbal sparring match. Some people see you as superficial, but in truth, you just play many roles and have many interests. A great manipulator, you usually get what you want from people. And they're happy to give it to you.

Well, except for that minor detail about being close to the sun and having extremely long days...

Generally speaking, I get what I want. I'll freely admit that I'm coddled, placated, humored and spoiled on a daily basis, and that's exactly how I like things. Disappointment is rarely something I have to deal with nowadays. In fact, with the exception of a colossal lack of judgement named Hannibal King, I don't think I've bothered with that particular feeling since... well, a very fucking long time ago. So, because you're probably going to end up on my dinner plate sooner or later, I'll tell you about the last time I was disappointed. There's some bonus disillusionment in here somewhere, too.

In short, the first time I had sex was a huge letdown. Every girl dreams of their first time being romantic and tender. Ugh, gag. My quote-unquote innocence was taken behind a tavern in the middle of January, with cold mud seeping into my shoes and a drunken sailor (how cliche, but he’d been quite charming until that last pint...) struggling to get himself off with a notable lack of interest in wether I even had a pulse or not, let alone if I was enjoying myself. Incidentally, I was still pathetically human at the time. If I hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have gotten away with grunting, pulling out, and taking a piss on the wall before offering me a wink and stumbling off into the night. He would have had his fucking throat ripped out. All I could do at that point was try and wipe my skirt clean, go home, and pretend like I would still make some man a lovely, virginal bride some day.

I didn’t actually enjoy sex until after I was turned, and that’s mostly because it’s always on my own terms now. If I’m not enjoying myself, I can just drain them and find someone else who can do the job properly. I don’t have to wait to let disappointment settle in, because like I said, I always get what I want, one way or another.

Bring me this Joss Whedon, and his little slayer, too. Someone needs to pay for cluttering the collective consciousness with this fucking garbage.

Title: Death or Something Like It
Author: Sadie
Disclaimer: New Line, Marvel and David S. Goyer would rip me a new one if I said I owned any of this. I just work for Danica.
Theme: #7 - Death (suicide)
Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Character: Danica Talos
Rating: M
Summary: Danica reminisces over her former life.
Warnings: Unladylike language and, unsurprisingly, mention of death and suicide.

( I wanted to die. )

...I'll do this instead, belatedly.

Valentine's Day Advice From QuizGalaxy to Danica
	"Flirt with, but do not kill and/or eat people. Valentine's Day is not Mantis day... yet."
What is your Valentine's Day advice? at QuizGalaxy.com

Unfortunately, "QuizGalaxy" and I do not see eye-to-eye on this one point. A girl has got to eat...